This idea occurred to me as I sat fussing and fretting about how my youngest might do at his Christmas performance this afternoon. I couldn't help but flash back to last year's concert, which was a mixed bag to be sure. All of my worry was for naught, though. Gus helped put on a great show, spreading Christmas cheer and singing loud for all to hear, yet restraining himself from going over the top.
From very early on, Gus began dragging me out of my comfort zone. The summer when Gus was almost 2, we would go watch (or should I say "watch") Paul's park & rec t-ball games. It was as if he was saying to me, "You want to sit and peacefully take in my brother playing his game? Ha! Fat chance, lady." I spent the entirety of every game chasing my little hellion.
As he's gotten older, things haven't changed. I'm a quiet person. I like to sit back and observe my surroundings, and Gus likes to make a splash. When I go someplace with Gus, we are not blending.
At school drop-off, we don't get to stand there quietly, dutifully waiting for the doors to open. Gus is stomping in the snow, jockeying for position at the front of the line, trying to engage the other kids in play. Similarly, after school while waiting for Paul, Gus is spinning around, urging kids from his class into a snowball fight. I stuff my hands in my pockets, exchanged bemused or apologetic looks with other parents.
Of course, in some ways Gus challenges me in good ways and in some ways, well, it's just difficult. G naturally nudges me to be more social because he's so social. My parents and I took him to McDonald's for ice cream after his show yesterday. He immediately befriended the other boy in the play land. His grandmother and my parents and I exchanged laughs and smiles taking in their natural rapport.
When Gus's teacher reports to me about days he's struggled at school, it forces me into a place I hadn't envisioned for myself. These conversations are never pleasant (though the last two weeks have been going really well!). With exposure comes acceptance, though. I'm gradually learning that every setback is not a crisis. And I'd better learn to start handling them with grace and perspective or I'll be a basket case by 12th grade. I'm getting there.
Sometimes I question whether I can accurately judge Gus's character. I'm so far the opposite of him, so guarded with my emotions that I think I often see some of his actions and antics as a bigger deal than they are. Whereas lots of people around me seem to genuinely enjoy my son, sometimes I'm too busy watching him with my eyes half-covered, worrying what he might do next.
Gus's and my movie would end with the realization that we both have something to offer each other. I come to learn the value in loosening up and enjoying life more. Gus learns the benefits of once in a while settling down and enjoying quiet and reflection. Between you and me, I wouldn't want Gus to go too far in my direction. I think he's got the better way. I reflect too damn much if you ask me, and I'm far too sensitive.
You Are my I Love You by Maryann Cusimano Love and Satomi Ichikawa is my favorite children's book. It so perfectly captures the essence of a relationship between parent and child. I defy you to get through it without a shedding a tear or all-out sobbing. It's beginning line captures me and Gus exactly: "I am your parent; you are my child. I am your quiet place; you are my wild."
Being Gus's mom is better, and sometimes more challenging, than I ever could have imagined. He's opened me to new worlds and charted new courses for me, and he will always be my "I love you."
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